


Pull This Thread, I've Come Undone

by AMRV_5



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Body Worship, Chubby Newt, Dirty Talk, Hermann just likes his uniform, K-sci budget gets slashed so Newt gets a second job, Lingerie, M/M, PWP, as a cocktail waitress, just realized i committed a cardinal sin and forgot to tag this, so h-rny god forgive me, this fic is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMRV_5/pseuds/AMRV_5
Summary: Hermann’s joked about it, of course. In bed, Newt pink and beautiful and begging underneath him, shuddering apart in his hands, how could he not? Such a pretty little tart, he’d said, never for a moment thinking he might be hitting on something true.





	Pull This Thread, I've Come Undone

**Author's Note:**

> hello its 2 AM local time and i was too flustered by my own writing to proofread this so i'm just sort of closing my eyes and throwing this into the tag. just very self-indulgent newmann lingerie/dirty talk written at 2 AM from here. if thats ur thing HELLO AND WELCOME

Hermann’s joked about it, of course. In bed, Newt pink and beautiful and begging underneath him, shuddering apart in his hands, how could he not?  _ Such a pretty little tart,  _ he’d said, never for a moment thinking he might be hitting on something  _ true. _ In retrospect, it’s so incredibly obvious, painfully obvious, almost...but then again, Hermann had been distracted. Understandably so. By a work crisis. As always.

“The PPDC will still provide lodging and your lab space, should you choose to stay,” Marshal Pentecost says, spreading his hands, “but other than that, gentlemen, I’m afraid all funding to your division has been cut. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d like you both to consider continuing your work here on a… volunteer basis.” 

Hermann nods, resigned. He’d seen this particular meeting coming almost a year in advance; it’d be impossible not to, as entrenched as his family is in the upper echelons of the PPDC. It’s a power play, plain and simple: proponents of the Wall cut funding for K-Sci and J-Tech and scoop up the valuable coders, engineers, and sundry scientists that flee the Jaeger program like so many cockroaches scuttling out from underneath an overturned rock. It’s predictable. It’s effective. It’s devastating. 

“You understand,” Newt says after a beat, exhausted and edgy, “that you are asking us to do the-- incredibly dangerous and taxing-- work of thirty people with no pay.” 

“I understand, Dr. Geiszler, but we would still provide--” 

“Health insurance?” Hermann interrupts, tapping his cane on the metal grating beneath his feet in ironic annotation. 

The Marshal grimaces and looks away. 

“I see.” Hermann says, and looks to Newt. Always to Newt. 

Newt catches his eye, then glares back at Pentecost. “We’ll do it. Of course we’ll do it, we’re not defecting to the Wall force, but god. God.” He shoves his glasses up and rubs at his eyes. 

Later that night, when they’re both three sheets to the wind and curled up on the floor of their too empty lab, Newt turns to him and says, “We’re gonna have to get part-time jobs.” The sarcastic twist in his voice breaks under the weight of his exhaustion.

“S’pose ve vill, darlink,” Hermann says, accent softening to his native Bavarian under the influence of, ironically, too much Scotch. 

“ _ Darlink? _ Are you always this adorably German when you’re plastered?” Newt asks, settling his head onto Hermann’s thighs.

Hermann adjusts to better facilitate a lapful of Newt. “Maybe,” he decides, and leans back against his desk. His eyes slip closed. 

“So. Jobs,” Newt prompts. 

“I’fe sought it srough plenty already, sank you, Häschen.” He’s already got something lined up for himself, some freelance network engineering that will hopefully cover the cost of food and his medication. At least he’s not having to worry about rent. Small mercy. 

“Oh my God. Adorable.  _ Adorable _ . Also, I totally know you’re sticking in field, but, I was thinking,” Newt says, tripping over his diction, “that I could make a pretty good bartender. Or at least I could make good tips.” 

Hermann hums indulgently, cracking an eyelid. “I’m certain you could. Cute little tart zat you are.” 

Newt, already pleasantly pink-faced and alcohol flushed, blushes brighter. “Like it when you call me that.” 

“Vhat, cute?” Hermann asks, closing his eyes again. He’s had a terrible day. As has Newt. He’s downed several tumblers of whisky. As has Newt. Yet, out of the two of them, Hermann is the only one rapidly descending into a sleepy haze. Something to do with weight disparity, maybe, or just the warmth of Newt in his lap. 

“No, the other thing. But you know, that kind of gives me an idea about a job. How would you feel if I worked-- Hermann?”

Hermann’s already asleep. 

  
  


_ Two Months Later _

Newt is late.  _ Again _ . He’s working some sort of-- waitstaff? Bartending? Hermann’s not exactly clear on the particulars-- job in the city, but he’s been coming back later and later each night. Barely before dawn on some occasions. Hermann hates to play the jealous lover, but he can’t help but feel Newt’s hiding something. 

He waits another hour. And then an hour after that. It’s not until the bedside clock reads 4 AM that the latch on the door clicks and Newt slides in, bundled shoulder to knee in Hermann’s heavy parka. He sets a bag down with a sigh and then startles as Hermann flicks the bedside lamp on. 

“Oh! Hey, babe, you didn’t have to wait up for me…” Newt shuffles and kicks his shoes off. They land with a soft clatter, far from the heavy  _ thunk _ of the Doc Martens Hermann’s grown accustomed to. 

“You’re very late. I was worried.” Hermann squints.  _ Was-- are those stilettos? _

“Sweet of you to worry.” Newt says, strangely shy under Hermann’s watchful eye. Normally he’d be preening, and the lack of his usual showboating send shivers of suspicion up Hermann’s spine.

“Newton.”

“Mm?” 

“Are you hiding something?” 

“What do you mean?” Newt laughs, high-pitched and uncomfortable. 

Hermann’s heart clenches. “You’ve been out so late. Darling, I--is it me? Is there...someone else that you’re seeing, or have I done something wrong--” 

“What?!” Newt says, horrified. He rushes forward, stumbling over his bag, and falls face first onto their bed. “No, baby, of course not, it’s just my second job, I swear!” 

“Til 4 AM?” Hermann asks drily, hoping he doesn’t sound as uncertain as he feels. 

“Yes! Yes, I promise, Hermann, please, I promise, it’s just because of the job, I’ve been picking up extra shifts for, y’know, food and meds and stuff,” Newt babbles, pressing his forehead to Hermann’s. He’s still wearing the parka; it rustles as he curls closer to Hermann’s chest. 

“Oh...of course. I understand,” Hermann sighs, abruptly relieved. He’d never really believed Newt would cheat, but… “Dearest, I trust you, but I’m  _ worried. _ What kind of work is keeping you out so late? The only places operating this time of night are mafia fronts and… gentlemen’s clubs…” Hermann trails off, attention snapping to where Newt’s leg is hooked over his own. Something there is different, but the shadow falling  _ just so _ over the bed makes it impossible to tell...

“Yeah, uh, about that…” Newt says sheepishly. 

Hermann ignores him, reaching out to skim his fingertips up Newt’s calf. Silk shifts under his hand and he unsuccessfully smothers a gasp. 

“Newton. Why are you wearing… silk stockings?” Hermann asks, quiet. His hand slides up to Newton’s knee, where he meets the hem of the parka. 

“Well, my job? It’s sort of a, eh, cocktail waitress kind of thing?” Newt says quietly, looking up at Hermann through his eyelashes. Apologetic. Innocent. Prettily pouty.

“And?” Hermann says, exasperated. He’s never been able to resist Newt, not when he uses those damnable green eyes to their full potential. 

“And this,” Newt says, pulling a comically large stack of cash out of the parka’s pocket. 

Hermann pulls back, staring at the wad of money. “You-- earned that? As waitstaff? In one night?” 

“Well, yeah. I get really good tips, dude.” 

“Do you?” Hermann asks, voice dropping. He starts to rub small circles into the tender spot behind Newt’s knee, reveling in the whisper of silk under his fingertips. “Does that have anything to do with the stockings?” 

“Kinda. It’s, like, the whole outfit that does it, I think.” Newt’s blush is evident even in the low light.

“Whole-- sorry, did you say  _ whole outfit _ ?” Hermann asks, hand sliding back down Newt’s pink-silk covered calf as Newt pulls away to stand beside the bed. 

Newt bites his lip and starts to unzip the parka. “Yeah. Whole outfit. Wanna see?” 

Hermann inclines his head and motions for Newt to continue undressing. The fact that Newt is evidently wearing some sort of  _ outfit _ underneath  _ his parka _ makes Hermann’s breath catch.  _ How many times had he worn that same coat the day after Newt had traipsed around, half-naked underneath? Half-naked, silk-clad-- _

Newt tugs the zipper at his neck down slowly. He’s got some sort of--pink-white half-corset thing on that cuts off at his waist, cinching his soft sides into a slight hourglass. Pink stockings cling to his supple thighs, held up by white panty garters that disappear beneath a sheer, silky slip of fabric. 

_ A skirt, _ Hermann realizes belatedly, and shudders as he’s struck by an almost painful wave of arousal. 

“Well, what do you think?” Newt asks anxiously, finally shedding the parka. “Doesn’t look terrible, right? I made great money, so--” 

“Turn around,” Hermann demands, voice cracking slightly. 

“Oh, okay?” Newt smooths a hand down the front of his skirt and turns slowly. “Do you not like it? I know not everybody’s, like, into this.” 

With every step Newt takes, the sheer miniskirt sways and flashes a view of the tight, white lace panties he’s wearing beneath. There’s also… a white fluffball attached to the back of the waistband. God help him.

“A rabbit tail,” Hermann says, swallowing hard. 

“Oh, yeah, the club’s called, like, ‘bunny rabbit’ but in Cantonese? It’s a whole thing. All the waiters wear the tail and these--” Newt says, bending over to pull something out of his bag. Hermann gets an eyeful of lingerie straining to contain Newt’s plump ass before he turns around, holding a pair of fluffy bunny ears on a headband. “Cool, huh?” His tone is casual, but there’s a perceptible tension there, too. He’s self-conscious.

“Put them on, please,” Hermann orders, gesturing at the headband.

Newt raises his eyebrows. “Uh, sure. I know it’s, like, a stupid gimmick, but.” He tugs the headband into place, spreading his arms. “So? What’s the, uh, verdict?”

Hermann slides silently to the edge of the bed, swinging his feet over the side to rest on the floor. 

“Darling, I want you to know,” he says as solemnly as he can manage, holding Newt’s uncertain gaze, “were I physically capable of kneeling, I would, at this moment, be worshipping at your feet.” 

“ _ Oh, _ ” Newt breathes, eyes flicking down to take in Hermann’s obvious arousal-- happy coincidence he had decided to sleep naked. Newt’s cheeks pinken beautifully. “I take it you’re into this?” 

“Seeing as I truly  _ can’t _ kneel, would you be so kind as to rest your leg here?” Hermann asks in non-answer, patting his good leg. 

Newt gives him a look but complies, standing over Hermann with a foot propped up on his knee. “Why?” 

“Was I not clear? I intend to worship you thoroughly. Can I touch you?” 

“Please do,” Newt laughs, and Hermann smiles in response. 

He wraps a hand around Newt’s silk-covered leg, enjoying the contrast between his pale fingers and the pastel stocking. Despite his soft frame, Newt is still comparatively petite; Hermann’s hand completely encircles Newt’s ankle with ease. “Look at that,” he says reverently, rubbing a thumb over the bone at his ankle. “So delicate.” 

“Delicate?” Newt laughs again. “Me? Nah, I don’t think so. I’m made for survival, baby. I’m  _ scrappy _ .” 

“You don’t look it. Not like this,” Hermann says truthfully. Scrappy is likely the last word he’d use to describe the man in front of him, soft and curvaceous and wrapped up in fine, gauzy fabrics as he is. Hermann lets his hand slide upwards slowly, touch feather-light as he can make it. He stops just above the knee, then motions for Newt to drop his leg again. 

“Like what? Sexy?” Newt asks cheekily, taking another step forward so he’s standing fully between Hermann’s open legs. 

“Don’t be so impertinent.” Hermann scolds, running the flats of his palms over the sides of Newt’s thighs. He pauses to trace the garters holding the stockings in place. 

“Why not?” Newt shivers a little as Hermann squeezes at his soft inner thighs, knuckles just barely grazing against the lace straining over his hardening cock. “What are you gonna do? Punish me?” 

Hermann laughs once and swats gently at his backside. “You’re positively shameless.” 

“Oh,  _ yeah _ . Am I?” Newt takes a loud, shaky breath. Hermann looks up at that; Newt’s eyes have gone half-lidded in arousal.

“Yes,” he says slowly, hands moving to cup Newt’s ass, slipping a few fingers under the hem of the panties. “Do you like it when I say that?” 

Newt blushes harder, breaking eye contact to stare at the wall. “...I do,” he admits, gasping as Hermann tugs on the back of his lace panties. “I like it when you tease me,” he says, clearly caught between wanting to lean back into Hermann’s hands and pressing forward to chase the delicious friction Hermann’s creating by gently pulling at the lace. 

“Yes? It’s okay for me to say...mean things to you? Playfully, of course?” Hermann backs off for a moment to let Newt answer clearly. 

“Yes! Yes, god, it’s so  _ hot, _ now  _ please _ put your hands back on me or I’m going to  _ die _ ,” Newt whimpers, reaching out to run his thumb over the crest of Hermann’s cheekbone. 

Hermann wants nothing more than to lean into the touch, close his eyes as Newt cups his cheek, but he stands it impassively. “You’ll die if I don’t touch you? My, my, Newton, how positively desperate of you.” His tone is cool, but he can’t quite keep an endeared smile off his face. 

“I am, though. I am desperate for you, Hermann, I’ve been thinking about you all night,” Newt confesses, eyes slipping closed. He opens them with a start when Hermann stands up and leans into his chest. 

“All night?” Hermann asks, slipping his arms around Newt’s waist. He kneads at the top of Newt’s ass and the small of his back, groping over the little skirt. “And what a long night it was, hm? Picking up extra shifts for meds and...food, did you say?” He reaches up to pinch a warm handful of Newt’s belly, exposed as it is between the half-corset and skirt. “Is this where your budget is going, Newton?” 

“Hey,” Newt laughs as Hermann tickles him gently, “tease all you want but I know how much you love it.” 

“I do love it,” Hermann breaks into a shy grin and leans in to nose at the softness under Newt’s chin. “And I love you.” 

“Sappy old man,” Newt says, grinning. 

“Little tart,” Hermann counters, nipping at Newt’s jaw, although he jerks back as Newt  _ moans _ . Not the low, breathy sounds Hermann loves to pull out of him on their more adventurous nights, but an honest-to-god pornographic moan. Newt’s never shy about loudly appreciating Hermann in bed, but  _ that _ was something new. 

Hermann runs his hands up over the corset, gripping at his chest, thumbing Newt’s nipples through the fabric. “Tart,” Hermann tries again, and grins when Newt gasps and bucks his hips forward. “Look at you, all dolled up like some-- some cheap  _ call girl _ , parading around all night to get cash from strangers.” 

Newt nods and whimpers, apparently too overcome with arousal to speak. He starts roll his body against Hermann’s, desperate for friction, but Hermann has a much more satisfying idea. 

“So sexed up you’re rutting against me like a dog in heat. Well,” He says, spinning Newt around and moving forward til he’s pressed against the wall, “if you’re content to dress yourself up like some two-pence harlot, I expect you won’t mind me using you like one.” He pauses and reaches for the lube in the nightstand. More quietly, he asks, “Is this okay, Newt? Not...too far?” 

Newt moans happily where he’s leaning heavily against the wall, cheek smushed into the plaster. “Hermann, you’re fulfilling, like, eighty of my fantasies right now, you’re an intuitive sex god and a surprising dab hand at dirty talk and if you don’t finish this in, like, the next two seconds I’m gonna literally explode. Please.” 

“Needy,” Hermann tsks, but smiles as he spreads a handful of lube over his flushed cock and presses himself against Newt’s back. “Ready?” 

“Uh,” Newt says hesitantly, “I mean,  _ yes _ , so ready, but also we haven’t prepped yet? I can take a cock but, like, you’re  _ big _ , man, I need to work up--” 

“Shh,” Hermann hushes him, weight shifting mostly onto his good leg and Newt’s back. “No prep necessary if I just--” he rolls his hips experimentally, pressing his slick cock between Newt’s soft thighs and palming Newt’s lace-covered length in tandem. 

“ _ Oh, _ ” Newt moans appreciatively when he understands what Hermann has in mind, “Hermann, you-- _ genius _ \--” He opens his thighs a little wider, rocking his silk-clad hips against Hermann’s belly and gripping Hermann’s lower back, pressing him impossibly closer.

Hermann starts to stroke Newt through his panties in earnest, moaning softly as the sheer lingerie skirt brushes over his cock on every outthrust. “You’re so lovely like this,” he pants, pressing against Newt’s cock with one hand and twisting the miniskirt in the other. “All wrapped up, just for me,  _ god, Newton _ , I hate the thought of other people seeing you like this, it should just be  _ me… _ ”

“Yours, just for you,” Newt agrees frantically, squeezing his thighs around Hermann’s length. “God, Hermann, this is so  _ good, _ you’re  _ so good, _ please, don’t--ah-- stop, you feel so  _ good.”  _

“Never, I’ll never stop until you ask me to, you’re  _ mine, _ I’m taking care of you, you smug, overeducated, beautiful, damnable little  _ hussy _ \--” 

Newt comes with a shocked cry, and Hermann follows only a few moments later. He abruptly feels his leg strain and pulls Newt back onto the bed, where they curl around each other, sweaty and breathing hard. 

“So,” Newt says after a few moments. “Can we  _ please _ do this again? No offense but I think that’s the hardest I’ve ever came in my entire life. Like, on Newt’s Grand Ranked List of Best Orgasms, that one  _ easily _ takes the top spot.” 

“Do you actually,” Hermann breathes, pushing a sweaty clump of hair out of his eyes, “have a list like that?” 

Newt eyes him carefully. “I might. Is it hot if I do?” 

Hermann pulls him close and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ve come to the realization that I find  _ everything _ you do unspeakably hot.” 

Newt smiles, soft, and drops a return kiss right above Hermann’s heart. “That sounds like a yes.” 

“It is, unfortunately.” 

“ _ Win.” _

**Author's Note:**

> find me at coloredpencilroses on tumblr! if u want to prompt me, get updates abt stories, or just say hi go ahead and stop by! 
> 
> update: the fantastic feriowind drew some absolutely GORGEOUS art of cocktail waitress Newt over here: http://waowoo.tumblr.com/post/176908075963/8-c-bunny-cocktail-waitress-newt-based-on-this it’s AMAZING check it out!!


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